


Power Struggle

by theskywasblue



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-08
Updated: 2010-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-10 11:09:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson finally gets Holmes to lay down his crop</p>
            </blockquote>





	Power Struggle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dr_zook](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=dr_zook).



> For the prompt: Cane vs. Crop

There is only so much that even the most patient of men can take - and as a physician and former soldier, Watson feels he has a near infinite capacity for patience - but Holmes is the undisputed expert at pushing the limits of...well, anything and everything. And while his enthusiasm for the case is certainly admirable (and even a little infectious) Watson can't bring himself to enjoy his friend's wild pacing of the sitting room (it's sure to wear a patch in the rug) or his grand and unnecessary gesturing - particularly when he has his damned riding crop in his hand and it is continually coming within millimetres of the fragile tissues of Watson's face.

"Holmes."

"...and then the coach driver - seeing his best chance..."

"HOLMES."

Holmes stops, very abruptly, like a man running headlong into a brick wall. Thrown off his stride - both mentally and physically - he shoots Watson a displeased glare.

"Is there something you would like to add, Mother Hen?"

"Yes. Stop waving that crop of yours about like a madman or you'll take my eye out."

"This?" Said crop comes to rest with its tapered end nearly against the tip of Watson's nose. "I really don't think that's a concern Watson, my reflexes are far sharper than that."

"All the same, I would appreciate it." Watson glares fixedly at Holmes down the length of the crop. Holmes stares challengingly back.

With a snap of his wrist, Watson brings his cane up. The crop sails across the sitting room, startling poor Gladstone from his place at the hearth.

"There," Watson announces with no small amount of smugness, the foot of his cane just short of the base of Holmes' throat. "Much better."

Holmes swallows, the bob of his Adam's apple nearly touching the end of Watson's cane. There's a sheen of sweat on his upper lip, and his eyes are a wide as a deer having spotted the silver glint of a hunter's rifle. For a long moment he is uncharacteristically silent, then he all but whispers, "Dear _God_ man..."

Watson smiles, and lowers his cane back to his side. "You may now continue, if you like."

-End-


End file.
